Salutem
by Carolare Scarletus
Summary: When a chance visit to the Mirror of Erised provides Tom Marvolo Riddle with glimpse of the future, what will he do with the information he receives from the Keeper of the Mirror and the images he receives. Can one be saved when they've already sinned beyond redemption? Tom x Hermione. Angst/Romance/Spiritual/Fantasy (ON HIATUS UNTIL 6/1/17)
1. Prologue

**Important: Thanks to the first reviewer, I have gone back and fixed all, if not all the mistakes. :) Thank you so much for pointing them out! Anything else is entirely my fault. There are bound to be some minor mistakes, anyway. Hopefully I caught all of them!**

* * *

 **A/N:** This fic has been put on hold for quite some time. Thankfully, I've found the time to come back to it :) I'm thrilled that I am able to!

I am so excited to have posted the first chapter, or Prologue. I hope this isn't too dark for y'all because it will become more angst as the story progresses. I don't want to take up too much of your time because I am very, very talkative. However, I would like to point out that this will be a very mature piece of work. There will be blood and gore and mature, sexual situations that is not sutiable for all audiences. You have been warned.

 **Standard Disclaimer applies:** I do not own Harry Potter, and I highly doubt the books and movies count.

As always, enjoy.

* * *

 **Title:** **Salutem**

 **Author:** **Ann10155**

 **Characters introduced chronologically, hopefully. (** **Additions will be made with each chapter. I will go back at the end to make sure it includes all appropriate characters after each chapter.): Tom Riddle, Keeper of Erised, Daughter of Erised, Lucius Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Harry Potter-**

 **Requirements ordained by the Author:**

 _Tom Riddle is will not be in his Voldemort form, but will be referred to as the Dark Lord, obviously._

 _Tom will be very cruel and unforgiving_

 _Slytherin's Locket, Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem, and the ring will play a key role_

 _There must be some sort of unknown connection between Hermione and Tom_

 _Sexual tension is present throughout the narrative, something neither Tom, nor Hermione would have anticipated, and struggle greatly to surpass_

 _Tom does not know/remember his encounter with the Keeper of Erised_

 _When he awakens, so does Hermione in some sense_

 **Summary:**

Tom Riddle's ultimate goal is to rid the world of the impurities plaguing the Wizarding World, but when his chance visit to the Mirror of Erised provides him with glimpses of the future, what will he do with the information he receives from the Keeper of the Mirror and the images he sees? As the years press on, his obsession to gain immortality grows. When a piece of his soul is stolen under the watchful eye of his followers, anticipation that he would fall exquisitely in love with the woman that haunted his past reincarnations arises.  
Torn between wanting to pursue his dream and finding the redemption his reincarnated soul has been seeking, will Tom be able to demolish his desires and seek forgiveness from those he has wronged and save the woman that's always found a way back to his corrupted being?

Can one be redeemed when they've already sinned beyond redemption?

* * *

 _Salutem_

* * *

 ** _Salvation_**

 _(N)- The Action of Being Rescued or Set Free_

and from harm, ruin, or loss.

* * *

 _X.x.X_

 _Deliver me from this evil_

 _That reigns superior in my soul_

 _Find the compassion to forgive me_

 _And help me endear this torturous fate_

 _Provide me the necessities_

 _That will bring me to my own_

 _True awakening and redemption_

 _That I have been seeking_

 _Before the first sin was committed_

 _X.x.X_

* * *

It was around midnight when the clock tower rang with a loud, melodious rapture of the approaching dawn. A lone, tall figure stared out the enormous window that overlooked the infamously deceptive Black Lake, his analytical eyes taking in the darkness, and expelling it out into the limitless void. For the past several nights he's wandered the halls of Hogwarts in search of the valuable antique. One that would be a considerable asset to his plans. Luck was no on his side, however. It was with his own providence and reluctance to simply give up that brought him to this pivotal moment in time. With any luck, the young man would finally get the Mistress that guarded the Mirror of Erised to talk, providing him the necessary information he needed. She was a hard woman to please, much less engage in conversation, though. Would she comply? He did not know. For months he's tried to track her down, confining in the other ghostly residence of Hogwarts' ancient, stone walls. Their compliance had been a very valuable resource to his investigations. He owed them his gratitude.

Tom Riddle politely excused himself from the window, giving the magnificent lake one last suitable glance before turning away. He continued his journey down the dark, abandoned corridor. Ignoring the calls of one very demented and equally mischievous poltergeist, he made his way down the hallway, turning a sharp left before being welcomed by the massive staircase. Its extendable arms already at work, confusing no one but itself seeing there were no lonely travelers to trick. Tom took pride knowing that he was not one of the selected fools to fall prey to the staircase's plan to dominant the minds of those less travelled. He knew its secrets far better than most of the ghosts that lingered and imposed themselves to drifting.

With careful calculation he was able to descend the stairs and get off on the correct floor. After a moment's thought, edging on hesitation, he ventured down the unwelcoming tunnel of the fifth floor, heavily rumored to hold the infamous Mirror, great soothsayer of the future and portent of misgiving and intrigue. Tom wondered silently if the ghosts he talked to had given him false information, hoping that it would lead him off its trail. No one has been able to find it; he's been searching for it for several weeks. After confining in Professor Slughorn and gathering as much information as he could, his thoughts turned abruptly to the possibility that he would not succeed. All who ever encountered it did not know of its hidden treasure and wisdom. Not only did it send those who gazed upon its reflecting face into madness, it was also very precise in its delivery. He hoped, almost prayed to some unknown deity kind enough to hear his prayer that it showed exactly what he wanted to see. He would not be pleased if he saw anything less than he was expecting.

What he wanted to see was a realty he hoped to obtain. Where his power reigned over all. It was the ultimate enlightenment he was waiting rather impatiently to see. The Mirror was a valuable antique that would solidify his future as he continued to make preparations and act upon his intuition. What he really needed was a clear vision. He needed something tangible, and not his own pleading desires. He couldn't very well do that when what he wanted was well beyond anything he, or anyone else, has imaged.

Tom focused his attention back down the horribly lit hallway. Barely able to see an inch in front of him, he feared that he would miss his mark. The hallways of Hogwarts were just as unforgiving and deceptive as the Grand Staircase.

He whipped out his wand and murmured," _Lumos_." A brilliant ball of light illuminated the dark hallway, disturbing the residence of the walls. A few more colorful patriots grumbled their disapproval with motely of offensive disgraces.

" _Silence_ ," he commanded in a low hiss. Instantly, he received it. All the voices ceased their arguments, eyeing the young man quizzically before turning away from the light bursting from the tip of his wand whilst grumbling about how bright it was and how late the night seemed to have gotten. Not an appropriate time for someone who needed a good amount of rest to be roaming the empty halls of Hogwarts.

"Turn off that blasted light." A man with a long, white beard insisted, holding up his pale hand to defend against the light that dared to disturb his rest.

Tom obeyed him, only because he did not want others to follow suit and express their devotion to eternal rest. He was just as tired as they were. A long wait had brought him to this moment.

He carried on, ignoring the ghostly wails of the presidential palace of the paintings as he walked. Just as he was passing a serene painting of waterfall and plummeting view of what lay below, a gentle, yet harsh voice drifted towards him in a feathery, lifting sequence.

"My assumptions about you were absolutely right."

Tom came to an abrupt stop. He _knew_ that slippery voice and whom it belonged to. Looking over his shoulder, he gave an indifferent glance to the ghostly figure that was beginning to assemble into a clearer vision. Standing behind him with her hands drawn gracefully in front of her was the woman he had talked to several months prior to this glorious night. The woman had not been entirely keen on helping him with his mission to track down the Mirror. Her resigned indifference had been a cost he could not afford to make.

He turned to face the once beautiful woman that roamed the planes of the earth. Wasted away with the harsh workings of time, the woman stared at him solemnly. Like a flicker of a flame, her anguish swept over her in an array of colorful absurdities that Tom didn't care to question. Her hair, as if submerged in the frigid water of the Black Lake, drifted elegantly around her in a dark brown allure; her eyes, though impregnatable with a haze of cloudy mist called out to him in an imploring, desperate plea; even though she could not speak, he could hear the euphonious spirit of her voice through the veil of her world and his. Tom stared at her, taking in her beauty once again, finding himself more entranced and intrigued than he ever had all evening.

"Little ghost," He greeted her with nonchalance. "May it be too bold to ask why you are roaming the halls and not haunting the North Tower? Perhaps, you finally come to an epiphany and- "

"I wouldn't help you if you were the last soul to roam the fruit-bearing field of Earth," she hissed with vehemence. Her eyes extracted the darkness around them. "You know not of what you seek."

"Will you be foolish enough to stop me?" He challenged. "Or, are you going to aid me in my endeavors? I do not have time to waste on petty women. Apparition, or otherwise. Be gone, you foul harpy!"

"Such _rudeness_!" she remarked with astonishment. "I was eternally correct with my evaluation of you! _Such a thirst for knowledge. A boy with remarkable and admirable reveries_. Not someone I would suspect to hold a darker agenda that he lets on."

Tom had had enough of her wondering muses. If the ghostly girl would not help him, then he simply had to find it himself. Not bothering to address her, he dismissed the heartless woman in the rudest way imaginable for an apparition. He ignored her, feigned innocence when she tried to call out to him, swept past the glaring image of her spirit floating in the air. Even when she let out a loud shriek, he continued to press past the deathly lit corridor.

"I will not be ignored!" With each passing second she grew angrier, threatening to wake the entire school if Tom did not grace her with a moment of his time. Not wanting to get caught by Peeves, or the housekeeper, he stopped dead in his tracks and turned around, meeting the searing gaze of the once beautiful woman that guarded the Mirror. "I will assist you." Was the very thing he wanted to hear, and she knew. She knew that if she willingly accepted his proposal he wouldn't have trouble finding her presence once again.

Tom flattered her with a breathtaking smile. "What a pleasant thing to hear, especially after that terrible, heart-stopping shriek."

She glowered at him. Without word and encouragement from Tom, she escorted him down the dank corridor. No one had journeyed through the cold tunnel in many years; he had the nerve to believe that the housekeeper stopped maintaining it in fear of being sucked into its bottomless trap. His apprehensiveness was justified wholeheartedly as they pushed forward against the retaliating darkness. Tom drifted several meters behind her, not wanting to feel more of her icy presence than he already has. He couldn't understand her reasoning for wanting to help him, even if he threatened to disrespect. Force to accept, or not, he was very pleased with her assistance.

He observed the now sedated transparent figure before him. She came to him as premonition of the future and with astounding éclat. Gratified with some configuration of his plans, he commended her readiness to partake in his journey. Without her, he wouldn't have discovered the true whereabouts of the Mirror of Erised. He owed her retribution for her help.

"We are almost there, boy."

Tom swept over her ghostly figure, finding it rude to see through her body. Instead, he picked up his pace just a bit so he walked beside her as she glided against the old wood floor. The floorboards creaked with the unbearable weight of his body and the heaviness of her essence. Pleading for alleviation, the entire hall rose to a chorus of groans.

"We are here." She swept aside as to allow him to take an inspiring look at the magnificent double oak doors that protected the Mirror from outside forces.

Tom stepped aside, taking as much as the large doors as he could. His heart grew to a loud, hammering interpretation. The blood in his veins licked like flames, his breathing became more deep and penetrating as he stared at the doors. Excitement coursed through him. Months of planning, of speaking to countless ghosts and pushing past his limited comfort and sucking up to his Professor had finally brought him to this moment.

Not wanting to wait another second, he placed a hand on each door, unlocked them with the capacity of his mind, and pushed them open. With a loud, reverberating bang the doors slammed against the wall and the room welcomed them both inside. The woman glided in after him. He could feel her icy gaze penetrating his back. Tiny stabs of needles marched up his legs and arms; the room was unnaturally cold and dreary. With high, arched windows and stainless glass panels of florae, dark, decaying walls that crumbled even in the slightest zephyr and a towering ceiling with hundreds of sparkling eyes, the room was laced with the decadence of centuries of neglect and uninhabited decay.

His attention was solely focused on the alter before him and what sat deceptively still in all its glorious, golden wonder. Situated upon a pitch black table sat the Mirror of Erised and towered above him with almighty grandeur. It was fixed with a sharp, gold frame and encased with a natural dark glow.

Etched beautifully into the enchanted wood were nine distinctively words that his eyes could barely make out. Spanning the unique curvature of the arch, he took in the following words:

 **Erised stra ehru oy tube cafru oyt on whosi**

 _I show not your face, but your heart's desire_

"Magnificent."

Tom uttered the very first word that came to mind, not stopping to think if it would fit the spectacle that stood before him. The words were a cacophonous visionary nuisance. His quick-thinking mind couldn't even begin to understand what the words meant. All he seemed to focus on was the last two words that stood out more than anything.

"What does it mean?" Tom demanded. "Tell me, ghost. I am sure you have been around just as long as the Mirror has, if not longer."

The young woman turned her head upward, her dark eyes resting on the words. "I do not know."

"Do not lie to me, girl."

"She is telling the truth."

Tome turned to find a dark apparition with trailing black hair and the same fathomless eyes as the younger ghost that stood adjacent to him. They sported the same facial features and airy glow. He watched, engaging them as the younger ghost strode over to the other, smiling softly at her.

"Mother."

"Angelina." Her mother pressed with austerity woven into her strong voice. "Did I not tell you to leave this boy alone?"

"You did mother, but he threatened to ignore me."

The woman immediately snapped her attention to Tom. "You- _what_?" She vanished out of vision before reappearing right in front of him in a fury of rage and harshness. "You _dare_ disrespect my daughter, boy?"

Tom looked over her shoulder and narrowed his eyes on the woman's daughter. "I _threatened_." he agreed, "but, I did not disrespect her; therefore, she shouldn't feel the least bit insulted. I was merely trying to get her to talk."

She drifted her gaze towards her daughter who bobbed up and down in the air. If ghosts could express emotions, it was hard to make out what she was truly feeling. Her face remained neutral with the slightly uneasiness, causing her furrow her angular brows. The older woman turned her attention back to him.

"My daughter is not the Keeper of the Mirror of Erised, no matter how much she wishes she was."

"I have already distinguished that, My Lady." Tom's soothing voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket. "Did you truly believe that I had fallen for her advances? Such pity. I wish you thought more highly of me."

The Keeper of the Mirror smiled fondly at him. "As much as I love my daughter, I wish I transpired for a son, as well. It would have brought amusement to my humorless existence."

Her daughter floated to her and the woman instantly reached out and wrapped her icy arms around the younger girl's shoulders. "Please do not be displeased. He simply wished to be taken to the Mirror."

"Ah, yes. I have very well aware with that, my dear. Many men before him have gazed upon its reflective face, all finding the same and horrid end as their predecessor."

"Then, you can advise me." Tom stepped forward demandingly. "I wish to know what the words engraved on its frame means."

The Keeper stared at him, giving him a look that was even harder to decode than the words. "If you wish to know what it means, then by all mean take a look through the Mirror. If you are worthy of its insight, it will let you further your quest."

Tom grounded himself firmly. Even with permission from the glowing Keeper of the Mirror, he couldn't bring himself to move. With encouragement from both the Keeper and her daughter, he sidestepped them and proceeded to present himself to the Mirror. A minor formality that he had gathered during his long months of research. It was customary to present oneself without trouble and worry; any faltering gaze or unsteady movement and the Mirror would not allow whoever wanted to look inside its translucent face. One had to exude courage if they wanted to discover their answers.

Slowly, he made the journey across the short landscape of the abandoned room, stopping at the foot of the three stepped alter. Tom looked up. He watched as the mirror flickered with welcome before taking the first step, then the second, and finally the third. He crossed the threshold of its sacred boundary until he stood directly in front of it, his tall frame scarcely fitting in the mirror vision.

"What do you see, boy?'

He looked into the reflecting face of the Mirror of Erised. As he watched, the picture of himself morphed into that of a sinister deity. He was dreadfully malicious. His entire body had transformed into something of fiction and mythology. His once pristine skin had gathered into a murky, dead hue; blue and green veins stretched across his bald scalp, racing and expanding across his entire body; eyes that were once a beautiful and captivating shade of blue were now bleeding like blood from a fresh wound. The man _\- creature's_ \- face contorted into a slithering sneer.

Tom back away, not quite believing the image he saw through the Mirror's surface. "What is this monstrous beast?" he hissed.

"You."

"That… can't possibly be me."

"Oh, but it is." she told him sadly. "I've been the Keeper of the Mirror since its creation more than a hundred years ago. Through my experience, I've seen men after men waste away and drift off into nothingness because they cannot bring themselves to pull away from its deceptive allure."

"The words," he began, drawing his attention back to the carving above him," _I show not your face, but your heart's desire._ Tell me, what does that mean?"

The woman looked at him. "Have you ever wanted something so much, so well beyond your reach that you were willing to do just about anything to obtain it?"

When she did not receive an answer, she continued. "It's planted in your heart, boy. Whatever your deepest, darkest desire is, it is there, waiting for the moment of triumph to reveal itself. As I said before, many have grown insane by looking into the Mirror. What you have seen, I am assuming, is a vision of succeeding in whatever you are setting out to do. Whether you fully know or understand what your desire is, you have seen the result of your work and endurance."

"Humans desire many things." Tom retorted.

"What do you desire?"

"I desire power." he said. "I desire a world free of these ghastly beings they call Muggles and Mudbloods. Such disgraceful creatures that do not deserve compassion or empathy."

The Keeper's expression morphed into astonished horror.

"What desire could have caused me to transform into this monstrous beast?" He paused. "Enlighten me. I wish to know what caused this to happen. What caused me to rise to high, and sink so low?"

"I cannot tell you that, boy." she said with finality. "If you wish to know, then continue to watch."

Tom peered back into the Mirror. His future self was now being surrounded by a platoon of faithful followers. For what cause, he could only make petty assumptions. He knew he wanted power. He craved it like starving men craved nourishment. It was a withstanding desire to rid the world of these horrid creatures they called Muggleborns, and anyone else that stained the perfect fabric of the Wizarding world. Filled with hatred, he continued to watch the scene before him transfigure into a more daunting picture.

Scattered remains of faceless people littered the room he was in; the blood he so desperately wanted to cleanse flooded the room, staining the edges of the robes he wore. His future embodiment lavished himself with the metallic substance. Standing in the background was someone he obviously didn't recognize. Her hair was wild with weeks of neglect; fresh marks marred her skin; newly marbleized scars glistened in the glowing light of the room; petrified, she watched with horror as he bent down, scooped up a handful of the blood that filled the room, brought his cupped hand to his mouth, and consumed the eternal substance of the ones he killed.

For the first time he could remember, a stab of pain pierced his heart. He hollered out, gripping his chest with wide, clawing fingers. He stepped away from the Mirror as his eyes remained fixated on the woman in the background. Several figures stepped behind her naked form; she screamed and cried out for him to help, but he only laughed with loud outbursts as his followers forced themselves on her and raped her mercilessly over and over again. Hours it seemed. It felt he had been watching the woman get defiled by a conflagration of unknown men for hours rather than the few critical seconds it took for him to break the incredible hold the Mirror had on him. It was almost as if he truly knew how it felt to be completely captivated by the Mirror because as he fell to the ground, he couldn't help want to look at it once again. A part of him wanted to know what happened to the girl, and if it had been his fault that she had been used and abused is such a despicable manner. Daringly, he looked up and witnessed as he touched and ripped the woman apart. A chorus of high pitched shrieks shook the Mirror, bringing the entire room to silence. Even after he killed her, he could still see the terror etched into her lovely face; still hear the caterwauls of torment fill the Room of Blood.

Tom wanted to weep, but couldn't bring himself to do so. He wanted to weep for his future, for the girl he defiled and allowed others to abuse, for the horrendous way he had ended her life.

It was only when the Keeper of the Mirror spoke that his heart truly assaulted by a concession of pain.

"She is your salvation." The woman told him.

He looked up and met her gaze.

"That woman you say in there was not a figment of the future. She truly was being defiled by those men."

"You dare to say that she- "

"Yes, at this very moment." A few searing tears slide down her cheeks. "All ghosts dying the in the same or similar manner can sense when a new addition joins our ranks. A visionary exploitation; not something anyone of the breathing plane can stand to witness. Trust me, boy. You do not wish to know of the pain she felt."

"I have felt it." Tom clenched his chest painfully, trying to alleviate the sharp stabs in his heart. "I felt every ounce of her suffering." He looked up at her. "What did you meant that she was my salvation?"

The woman did not speak for an extended period of time. With growing concern and anxiousness, Tom wanted to pry for more help and enlightenment from her, but she would not talk to him. Instead, she secured a spot near one of the windows, looking out at the expanse Hogwarts' grounds. Solemnly, she turned back to him and delivered unto him something he hoped would give him the insight he desperately wanted.

"Your desire is very strong. So much so, that there is no doubt in my mind, or the Fate's prophecy, that you will attempt to succeed in your endeavors of purging the world of impurities. However, there will come a time when you will be at your most vulnerable. During which time, she will appear. Like an apparition of fortune and a fragment of the past, that girl will come to you. It will be up to you what you do with her deliverance. If you chose to take her, you will die and be reborn. If you do not, I cannot say." She paused to look at him. "I do not see the future, but I know that she will bring to you a decision that will either free you from your endless torment, or propel you into perpetual darkness for all eternity. You do not simply seek to purge the world; you seek immortality, as well. It is one of your obsessions, and one that could very well seal your fate.

"You are more than willing to do vile things to obtain what you desire, even if that means destroying anyone that stands in your way. A lover, a companion. No one is safe from your wrath. She can offer redemption when the time comes. You have suffered long enough and deserve more than you have been offered, boy. But, neither of us can force you to seek redemption. That is entirely up to you."

Tom watched with silent earnest as the Keeper of the Mirror removed herself from the window and floated over to the Mirror. Her words, just as the words above the Mirror, were unclear. Redemption, choice, suffering, and darkness- what did it all mean and what did it mean for him?

He appeared next to her, breathing heavily as to steady his erratic heartbeat. A failed attempt, especially taking notice of the proximity between him in the Mirror.

The woman looked at him once more, deeming her presence undeserving. She glided away, throwing her gaze to some distant place. It was only then that he realized that her daughter had vanished completely from the room. A shriek sounded from outside and she gave him an apologetic smile.

Before he could inquire, she too vanished, leaving him behind to drown in his sorrow and agony.

He wanted to ask how she died, and why her daughter shrieked with terror every night at precisely one o'clock. Any resemblance of insight was better than none at all.

There was so much he wanted to discuss. There was so much that he didn't understand. What did she mean she was his salvation, and from what? He hadn't done anything that would merit his eternal suffering in the pits of Hell, but as she said, she had no doubt that he would at least attempt to obtain what he desired. Would it be worth the loss and bloodshed? Like a surging pull of a magnet, he was once again drawn to the alluring call of his desires, finding it harder to concentrate.

He vowed as he fought to keep his gaze away from the Mirror that he would at least try to see her advice through. He would try to understand her delivery and make sense of the entire affluence of wisdom. Luck had been on his side tonight; he seriously questioned the woman's existence entirely until she made an appearance. As if forged by the unyielding string of the Fate's, she had been destined to meet with him. She was given a mission to carry out, and she had delivered brilliantly. Quietly, he thanked her for her braveness.

Struggling to latch onto what bit of sanity he had left, Tom broke away from the Mirror, striding towards the entrance. Once he arrived at the double doors, he threw a quick glance over his shoulder, meeting the alluring pull of the Mirror before finding solitude in the darkness.

* * *

I hope the updated version is up to part. Stay tuned to a newer version of chapter two :)


	2. Assurance

**Title:** **Salutem**

 **Author:** **Carolare Scarletus**

 **Universe: Au; Time Travel**

 **Genre: Romance; Angst; Adventure**

 **Pairing(s): Tom Riddle x Hermione Granger**

 **Timeline: 1997-? 1943-?**

 **Characters introduced chronologically, hopefully. (** **Additions will be made with each chapter. I will go back at the end to make sure it includes all appropriate characters after each chapter.): Tom Riddle; Keeper of Erised; Daughter of Erised; Hermione Granger; Harry Potter; Ron Weasley;**

 **Note:** This work of fiction was introduced sometime during November of 2015, but due to circumstance I had to push publications back tremendously. The plot has been revised, though there really isn't much to compare it to. I simply cannot wait to share what I have come up with for this fic, and I hope those who have been with me so far be patient just for a little bit longer :)

 **Requirements ordained by the Author:**

 _-Tom Riddle is will not be in his Voldemort form, but will be referred to as the Dark Lord, obviously. (Due to Tim Travel)._

 _-Tom will be very cruel and unforgiving_

 _-Slytherin's Locket, Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem, and the ring will play a key role_

 _-There must be some sort of unknown connection between Hermione and Tom_

 _-Sexual tension is present throughout the narrative, something neither Tom, nor Hermione would have anticipated, and struggle greatly to surpass_

 _-Tom does not know/remember his encounter with the Keeper of Erised_

 _-When he awakens, so does Hermione in some sense_

 **Summary:**

Tom Riddle's ultimate goal is to rid the world of the impurities plaguing the Wizarding World, but when his chance visit to the Mirror of Erised provides him with glimpses of the future, what will he do with the information he receives from the Keeper of the Mirror and the images he sees? As the years press on, his obsession to gain immortality grows. When a piece of his soul is stolen under the watchful eye of his followers, anticipation that he would fall exquisitely in love with the woman that haunted his past reincarnations arises.

Torn between wanting to pursue his dream and finding the redemption his reincarnated soul has been seeking, will Tom be able to demolish his desires and seek forgiveness from those he has wronged and save the woman that's always found a way back to his corrupted being?

Can one be redeemed when they've already sinned beyond redemption?

* * *

 _..~.._

 _Salutem_

 _Chapter one_

 _Assurance_

 _..~.._

* * *

 _`..~..`_

 _Even in suspended existence,_

 _Circulating like the remnants of a final hour_

 _His wanderings run away to her_

 _The unspoken destiny that reaches far beyond_

 _The grave that he has been thrusted into_

 _Time and time again_

 _Instilled with this evil that he is forced to call his own_

 _He wanders, hoping, yearning, dreading_

 _The life that he procured with want_

 _The life he lives now by reason_

 _And the life that will never be his_

 _Far beyond the reaches of his worth_

 _He wanders._

 _`..~..`_

* * *

 **Forest of Dean**

 **Gloucestershire, England**

 **Monday, December 29, 1997**

" _Protego Maxima,"_ she whispered as a cold breeze pressed past the defenses of her work. The coldness of the terrain seemed to hold her in the most unbearable grip. Sheltered only by a handful of enchantments, Hermione Granger shivered as the remaining charms were casted around the camp, the warmth of her exploited struggles fading in the distance.

Beneath the canopy of the enclosure, she stood with her thinly clothed back away from the flickering of the fire. The single wand of their blundering travels was clenched in her hand, which shielded her protectively but did absolutely nothing for the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had heard a voice, a man's voice to be specific as he murmured her name. Her brows furrowed, confused. It had been the second time in the last three hours that she has heard him. She didn't know what to make of it as it was only one of the countless occasions where her mind seemed to find enjoyment by making a fool of her.

It was the first time she let her fragile mind tricked her. It was late, dark and cold. She and Harry had only just arrived and there was a dire need to enchant their surroundings before they last all light of the old day. She wished that he wouldn't play her as a fool. Ron Weasley was a dead man if she ever saw him again. That she could trust was the truth.

But she couldn't exactly say that the voice had been Ron's, either. It did not sound like him at all, and the fact that whoever it was chose to use him voice made the feeling of plummeting all the more unnerving. Yet, she just couldn't let it go.

Hermione shook her head. She must not allow the voices to get to her. Shivering again, she raised her wand and continued to whisper the charms like a mantra beneath her breath.

" _Fianto Duri,"_ Hermione held up her hand and casted the second charm, her eyes lighting up as a blue light ignited before her.

Her voice was nothing but a whisper in the crisp, winter night.

While she laid down the next enchantment, she heard the disturbed words of soothing echoes. As nights' prior, the voice drifted in and out of the lines of the trees. Hermione immediately dropped her am and looked around. Eerie quietness welcomed her.

How odd.

Ever since she began wearing locket around her neck she been hearing strange voices. These voices were the kindest, either. Most of the time, they would whisper to her with deeds that could not be uttered. While some whispered, others taunted. Most of the time she was able to ignore them. Something had fought them off for her, otherwise she would not have made it this far. As it had done with Ron, she would have left Harry long before now. A sense of guilt came over her. Even though she stayed, she still felt ashamed by such occurrences. It was not her fault that he had left; it was all that prat's fault for not realizing it sooner what the mission entailed. Ron was unbelievable, but Hermione could not exactly fault him for everything.

The locket was partly to blame, thus bringing her back to the predicament at hand- the voices.

They were everywhere. Echoing off ever available surface, they came back to her with incredible force. She could no longer avoid it, no longer protect herself

She watched with mild interest as the blue hued charm rain down upon her, showering her in glittering light. This night's interim of enchantments seemed rather odd, strangely different. Perhaps, it was the location. It was one of the many places that she dared not think about. It was a place that she had visited with her parents during her childhood. She remembered as clear as day when her father announced that they would be visiting Gloucestershire. She had no idea where that was, and immediately set forth to find out everything she could about the location. Looking back now, it brought tears to her eyes. A deep ache in her chest forced her tears to come. Hermione could not suppress the motely of emotions that was building up steadily inside her.

Somewhere out there, her parents were without. Without her, without the knowledge of even having a child. She had taken probably the purest of things from them all in hopes of keeping them safe.

Were they safe?

The thought was immediately vanquished; she would not speculate their safety now. She would have known of their deaths, would have found out one way or another. Be it months ago or years from now. She would have found out.

"Everything all right?" her partner asked, coming up behind her and offering her the scratchy blanket. She smiled at him, accepting his offer with splendidly opened arms. She was shivering, which she hadn't noticed until Harry came up to her and touched her shoulder. It's been like this for weeks now- none of them prone to talkativeness. It was only last week that they were able to speak to each other on an almost normal and cordial basis. It was just last night that they were able to talk about what happened at Godric's Hollow. She still felt guilty for what happened there and the incident with Ron, and even now Harry made an act to show her it wasn't.

They were almost touching now.

Before she pushed him away, as she always did, he stopped her. His asking- _begging_ her to talk to him.

She stared at him ashamed, finding it hard to pull away from his hollowed face.

How much of this damn war was his fault? How much of this could have been stopped if the Ministry had at least listened to him? Hermione hardly thought of these sorts of things, but it was in that moment that she realized just how damaging and haunting their actions were. Let alone dangerous. People ought to think of them as crazy, the ones that knew about their mission. But, they didn't. They had the full support of every single one of them. If that wasn't heart-wrenching enough, it was the nightly radio announcement they received from their friends on the inside of the castle.

It had been that night when they learned Ginny was among the one who had been punished for trying to steal the Sword of Gryffindor.

Another sharp ping of guilt stabbed her chest.

Shuttering from what she wanted to think was the cold Hermione gave him a reassuring hug. His arms tightened around her, his nose digging into the side of her neck.

"I'm fine," she told him, finding the nerve to smile weakly into the distance ahead. He had caught her crying, as he often did. It would not be the first time her vulnerability was forced out of reclusion. She was not weak, that she knew. Sometimes, she just expressed weak things, and crying was one of them.

"We better get back inside." said Harry. "Are the incantations done?"

She nodded, wiping her cheek. "Almost. I just have a few more left to cast."

"D'you need any help?"

This made her laugh. "No, I don't. Thank you though."

Harry smiled briefly before it faded away. "You know why have to talk about our next step of action."

Hermione was just about to raise their wand when he said that. She let her arm fall, her gaze held steady in front of her.

"Must we discuss it now?"

He shrugged, obviously not sure if even now was the best time.

She sighed. "You go inside. I'll be there in a minute."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, now go. I'll be fine, I promise."

Forcing her shoulders back, Hermione poised herself the best she could, and somehow she was able to fool not only Harry but herself as well.

Hermione watched until Harry's retreating back was pulled from her sight and he escaped back into the warmth of the tent. Just as he did, she let out a strangled sigh. Shuddering with noiseless tears, she quickly recollected herself and proceeded placing the enchantments that would allow them a peaceful evening until dawn. She only hoped that her voice provoked the strength that the enchantments required. One mustn't show weakness, only their absolute métier. Anything less would lead to disaster.

And what disaster was she risking? The more time she spent wearing the necklace that seemed to read her like an open book, the more she became lost in her own abyss of depression and repressed sadness. She found no means to an end, and she was beginning to think that none could come from being in possession with one of the darkest artifacts that she's ever come across, much less touched.

She looked around her.

The silent wilderness fought back against the prevailing cold. She could only see the faint outlines of the trees, and hear only whatever noise that called in the distance through the thick veil of magic that protect them from the night.

She raised her arm and proceeded to whisper the last few incantations.

That was when she heard them.

Crouching down suddenly, she fought to keep her breathing relatively leveled. Her ears strained to listen to the approaching figures. A hand gripped her torso, forcing her breath to be held and kept in captivity inside her chest. She remained perpetually silent. She could feel the quickening of her heartbeat, the tight muscle pushing up against her ribs and eliciting the sort of painful stings that only accompanied anxiety and irrationalized dread. Looking around the best she could, Hermione was able to keep vigilant watch.

They came from the northern side of camp. Their heavy footsteps crunched beneath the snowy ground. Shouts rebounded harshly against the thick, towering trees and debris, brushing past the security of the incantations and wrapping around Hermione in a grisly embrace. She shuddered. As their voices grew louder, she buried herself deeper into the ground, her arms coming around her knees as she struggled to keep herself from screaming. The locket was not helping.

Voices.

Again with the voices.

This time their words were not pretty, as they never were. Like a haunting cry of a crow, the voices grew to a crescendo, forcing her to raise her hands to her ears in a pitiful attempt to block out their shrilled words.

 _Come to us. Yes, come to us_

 _We will ever be so accommodating._

 _You will simply love it here._

 _Only if you will come to us._

Come to who? She didn't want to go anywhere other than back to the safety of the tent and in the arms of one of the only people she had left.

 _He is not your sanctuary_

 _He will only come to destroy you._

 _He does not love you._

"You're wrong," she whispered, rocking back and forth. "You're wrong!"

 _Oh, we are?_

 _Tell us, who would ever love you?_

 _No one wants you, you foul little bitch!_

 _Yes, you are nothing more than a filthy little Mudblood!_

"Shut _up!_ "

 _How dare you!_

 _You worthless little cunt-!_

"Oi, I tink I 'eard it over 'ere!" a rough voice dispersed the grotesque berating of the voices.

Hermione looked up, her hands still pressed against her head. She could feel the trickling of her tears as they slide down her cheeks. A rush of cruel anxiety came over her. That was when she realized that Harry had come out.

She had screamed out.

It hadn't been a figment of her imagination.

He had heard her.

"Shh," he whispered, jutting his head in the direction of the forest.

They remained silent, listening to the intruders through the thin veil that separated them. From where they sat, they could see three men coming up from the clearing and into the bank. Their rough and wind-swept appearance was all the had to go by; the men had travelled all over, and had finally found a place to rest. Why they choice this particular site was beyond them; all Hermione could think about was finding a way to get rid of them.

"Oi, yer jus' 'earing things!"

"Oh, am I, 'huh?"

"Will you two shut it?" a deep voice sounded from behind them. "We've got to keep moving. Now, settle down and walk."

"Didn' you 'ear it?" one of the other men asked.

"Hear what?"

"Voices." Through the incredible distance, Hermione could feel a sly grin stretch across his face. "Sounded like a girl."

"Yer 'earing things!"

A grumble fell from the man's lips. The noises ceased a few seconds later. All that could be heard was their feet crushing into the snow.

The air held an eerie silence. One that made even the strongest warming spell break. Hermione shivered, not wanting to move or speak.

"What should we do." She whispered into his ear, frightened. Even the slightest vocalization could send the men in their direction. "Should I cast something?"

Harry shook his head. "You are in no state to do so." He looked over his shoulder, around the campsite. "I don't think they know where they are. They're heading East, which is a good sign."

"What if they come back?"

"They won't." He sounded so sure of himself. "It's late. They need to rest, as do we."

Hermione wasn't quite convinced that the men would stay away long enough for them to catch a few hours of sleep. She knew that them being here would require one of them to stay up, and she knew that Harry wouldn't allow her to be the victim of another sleepless night.

"Come on," he moved to stand but she reached out and grabbed hold of his sleeve. "It'll be alright. I promise. Whatever happens, we'll be fine."

"You promise?"

He nodded. "Of course."

The resounding echo of the men's voices reverberated softly in the distance. If what Harry was saying was true, they would not bump into them any time soon. Their destiny was taking them East, but they did not know where it was taking them. Hermione stood, dusting herself off. The snow crunched bitterly beneath her feet.

They walked back to camp quietly and slowly. With the last remaining charm swirling around before them, they retreated back into the tent and accessed their next move. Neither of them talked, though their thoughts held high prestige.

For the last several months they have been on the run. Death Eaters, Snatchers, and everything else that may walk in the darkness have been hunting them, and it was only just a month ago that they lost Ron to his inhibitions. Sometime during their enduring passage, he had grown increasingly angry. She blamed it on the locket in which they took turns wearing. Whatever it had done to him, it had pressed his anger until it was the only thing he could feel. Expressing it in winded words, harsh declaration and outrageous claims, Ron left them, seeking his own maddening resolution wherever his heart may have led him. Hermione didn't know where the wind had taken him, but prayed that his was safe, no matter how dangerously angry she was at him for abandoning them. If it was some solidarity to them, they had the radio's chants to give them the relief that they need in regards to their old friend.

Hermione's hand immediately went to clench the chain that was secured around her neck. She missed him terribly. A day did not go by that he didn't run through her reckless thoughts. Ron, wherever he was, better be safe. Better have found what he was searching for. Whatever it may have been.

Books, as always, cluttered the small table by the makeshift fireplace. The tent was kept relatively clean, due in part of Hermione's frequent need to do something whilst her mind swirled around in chaotic control. They've been trying to figure out where to go next and neither of them have been able to pinpoint the next location. As Harry strolled over to the kettle, Hermione packed up her things and placed them carefully back into her pouch. She winced. An avalanche of books had fallen it would take a great deal of time to go and fix the disaster that was awaiting her. With a disgruntled sigh, she closed the pouched and smiled as Harry handed her a steaming mug of chicken noodle soup.

"Thank you," she breathed, sniffing the contents and allowing a faintly pleasant sigh to escape her lips. "Who taught you how to make this?" she teased.

Harry smiled. "I had a great cook help me."

A blush joined the already slightly pink tint to her cheeks. "Oh, Harry. I'm hardly a cook."

"Yeah, well, you've kept us alive this far, eh?"

Hermione nodded. Although it was only broth, she felt as if she was having a three course meal. Letting the warm liquid pass down her throat, she waited as the warmth of the soup filled her up. As coldness as it was outside, she at least had the company of her friend and the fire of the hearth to remain at her attendance.

With a chuckle, she shook her head and swatted him on the arm. He stepped back, laughing as he tried to avoid her wrath.

"Come on," he chastised," you wouldn't attack the man that made you supper, would you?"

Shaking with laughter, Hermione relented with her attack. "Alright, but next time you joke about that, I will not be responsible for your injuries."

"You never are, hmm?"

Hermione berated him.

"Alright, I surrender. You win, as always."

With a smile, she chugged down the remainder of her broth and placed the dirty mug back onto the table. Satisfied, and not nearly as cold, she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She listened once again to the wind.

"So, where to next?" she tried to drown out the voices by passing her attention to Harry. He came and took up her mug and shrugged.

"Dunno. Thought you would be able to tell me."

"It's late."

"I am aware."

"We shall discuss it in the morning." She dropped her head onto the table and let out a groan.

He chuckled at her brutish attempt to pacify her lack of sleep. She's tried a myriad of different ways to relieve the stress of Horcrux hunting. Their last dance had been some time ago, and it was becoming a bit of an everyday occurrence. Hermione could vouch for the just how relieving it can be.

"Do you remember when I first danced with you?" Harry sat down beside her and placed his hands on his knees. "Not just this past month or so. At the Yule Ball?"

"I remember how awkward it was for the both of us, but yes I remember."

"You were so beautiful, 'mione."

He never ceased to amaze her. Even his gentle words were enough to sway her.

"And you were an awful dancer." Hermione tried to hold the smirk that formed on her lips. "You were so nervous and couldn't keep your feet from stepping on mine."

"Which I apologized profusely." He berated. "Are you ever going to let that go?"

"I don't know." She laughed. "Maybe in a couple of months when the sores on my feet finally heal."

"What?" he bent down to take a look at her feet. She had taken off her boots and were now proudly sporting fairly nice looking feet. She giggled as he picked one up to examine it. "I don't see any."

"It's called a Glamour charm."

"I see." He murmured, putting her foot down. They sat and talked for a while, both drinking in the other's presence."

If only the voices would allow her that peace.

The voices were still speaking to her. As her fingers began to play with the locket, they grew more incessant and loud. What they said was awful, and couldn't be further from the truth. She wasn't a swine, a whore, but even something as small as the Locket could make one feel as if they were. They could literally drive anyone to madness if they were weak enough to allow it. Harry noticed this and his hand came to brush against hers.

"What's bothering you?"

She shook her head and lied through her teeth. "Nothing," she told him before smiling warmly at him. "I promise."

"Last time you promised, you awoke with a frightful scream." He reminded her along the lines of playfulness, the seriousness of the situation painted within his clandestine words. "Come on, you can tell me."

With a sigh, Hermione sat down on the battered old sofa they had collected from their travels, propping her legs on his knees. He sat and played with the frayed end of her jeans, throwing the string he caught onto the dirt floor and not without earning a heated, accusing gaze from Hermione.

When she finally spoke, she had to catch herself twice as not to allow her voice to give her away.

"I'm worried," she said in a near whisper.

"About?" he tried to press her, knowing full well that patience was the key with her. As it has been for months.

She couldn't find the exact words to express it. She was worried about a myriad of things, one being their search for the rest of the Horcruxes, their impending reconcile with destiny, but above all the safety of their friend. Hermione spent most of her free time wondering where he was, who he was with. If it wasn't for Harry's constant assurance, she wouldn't have been able to carry on. Even now, she didn't think she had the strength.

So she turned and looked into his eyes, begging for an explanation, a sign. And she found one.

"Ron," she came right out and said his name.

The expression on Harry's face plummeted; from the eased cheerfulness that could only be provided by surviving another day was replaced with speculated worry. There was a gambling hesitance in the way his eyes darted about the tent. Never truly landing on her, he looked around for some sort of inspiration. He sighed, finding none.

"I understand that you're worried, scared even," Harry's voice cracked a little despite how unbelievably strong it was compared to the defeated posture in which he held himself," but, we can't focus on that, Hermione. He left on his own accord and it's not our fault that he wasn't up for the challenge."

"What sort of challenge are you talking about," she whispered, hissing. "He knew what he was getting into."

"No, he did not," Harry snapped back just as harshly. "He had no bloody clue. He thought this would be easy, would be a few weeks in the forest, Apparating here and there. He thought Dumbledore had left everything that we could have possibly need when he died. I'm sorry to tell you but he was wrong. Dumbledore barely told me a damn thing. I'm just as lost and deserted as you, Hermione. If only Ron wasn't so fucking stupid, then he would've seen that."

"Harry…" Hermione's broken voice tore the haze that he created. In that moment, he realized what shame he had brought upon himself. It was as if he was wearing the necklace and not her. Of course, they experienced the lasting effects of the Horcrux differently. His troubles came in the form of uncontrollable rage, as did Ron's. Whatever demons that were still trying to torment him were soon laid to rest when Hermione reached over and placed a small hand on his knee. She smiled brokenly at him. "I understand."

Two words.

How can two words come to mean so much to him through the time that it took to utter them? Harry truly marveled at the uncanny ability. Hermione's concern was as palpable as the cold hand that gripped them. Placing a hand on hers and squeezing it, he turned and returned the same welcoming smile.

"We'll pull through, yeah?" He grabbed her feet as she wiggled more snuggling against the battered couch. He became to massage her sore feet. She let out a sigh, her eyes still clinging onto his. "Don't we always?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Good." Something played in the pit of his eyes. It took him several tries to speak, but he eventually found his voice in the end. "I think I should wear the Locket tonight."

"But, you just-"

"Hermione, I know." He almost smiled. "But you're in no condition to wear it. I'll wear it until morning. If you feel like you're up to it, I'll let you where it."

What a disheartening bargain. No matter how she wished to rid herself of the blasted thing, she couldn't bring herself to hand it over like some worthless piece of rubbage. It was a part of her, as crazy as that sounded.

Due to the more selfish part of her, she accepted his proposal. It earned her a grateful smile, but caused her such terrible mental harm that sleep was set far from the surface of her mind.

Hermione gingerly wrapped her fingers around the chain, lifted up from around her head and set the heavy Locket in the palm of her hand. She weighed it like a God would way the wary heart of the dead. It was could to the touch, and no number of feathers could redeem its already tainted character. A murmur of a sigh escaped her lips. Frightful imaged flashed before her eyes. As much as the departure hindered her from letting some else suffer at its hands, she couldn't help feel relieved.

She handed Harry the Locket, watching brokenly as the chain fell onto his shoulders and he was burden by its terribly pleas.

* * *

It was well past three in the morning, and while Hermione slept peacefully in the little space between the fireplace and the couch, Harry was left to deduct from his sufferings. They spoke for quite some time before the silence between them was the most predominant deity. By the time he had decided that it was too much, Hermione had fallen asleep, leaving him to his thoughts now.

Harry twirled the Locket around and around. He studied the inscriptions, the emerald snake that decorated the front. The thought never occurred to him, but maybe it was possible to open the thing without repercussions.

" _Oh, don't be silly, Harry."_ A smile formed on his lips at the sound of Hermione's brutally honest reception. Of course the girl was asleep, and didn't have to know a damn thing that happened unless he deemed it worth of explanation. What he really wanted to do was to see… to see if it would open to his touch.

From trying to pry it open with his fingers to throwing it against rocks and stabbing it with every sharp object that he came across, he couldn't seem to make any sort of dent in its defenses. It fact, it seemed to spar it on. The Locket indeed had a mind of its own. One that it used to mess with the mind of whoever is wearing it. Unfortunately, he had not been the only victim. He would not be the only one, either. Harry stopped trying to open it. As it laid like a discarded piece of rubbage on the floor, he continued to stare at its mesmerizing artwork. He turned it over, his fingers outlining the peculiar shape of it. The inked words that were inscribed on the back had bene nothing but a puzzle to them. Even now he couldn't understand what it meant, what it meant for them.

It was like the damn Locket could sense his distress. It burned against his skin, shifted from one inch to another until the boiling need that was been kept inside finally burst. The Locket shot up in the air; Harry's eyes widened in horror. He stood quickly, his feet nearly causing him to fall when the Locket vanished from thin air and back into the owner.

Hermione shifted quietly in her sleep, never realizing the object that she once possessed had returned to her.

Harry looked at her. He wondered why the thing was so attracted to her. When he was just on the edge of figuring it out, he grabbed their wand and set out into the night.

Something distinct glowed in the distance and he was determined to find out what it was.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I would like to apologize immensely to the people who have favorited and have been following this work since last year. A lot of things came into the equation, and I had to put several things in the back of my mind. Once I did have some time to focus and get through what I needed to sort out, I was able to come back to the work and I have to be honest- I didn't like where it was going. I rewrote the plot and have settled on something that I hope will truly be worthwhile. I've never played on time travel, so this is a first for me. Let's hope I can pull this off!

With that said, welcome to the new and improved Salutem. (Though, there was nothing to even compare it to, lol.)

 **Second note:** During the first scene, we witness Hermione acting very odd. I have to remind you that she is wearing the Locket. As we know, the Locket can do unspeakable things to the wearer. Hermione is not weak; it is simply the Locket forcing a psychological and physical strain on her that makes her appear weak. I don't want someone reviewing about, and let's be honest, that would be rather annoying to have to explain again. I wanted to keep this chapter light and less morbid. So, keep that in mind. Did y'all really think she would be like that for long? Or when she came face to face with Voldemort/Tom? LOL! Y'all! Of course not! I would never be so cruel to take that fierceness from her! :) Do not fright; I will deliver unto you what you deserve to read!

Toodles (Which is underlined as misspelled on Word).

-Carolare Scarletus


End file.
